Letter to No One
by RowanRhys
Summary: AU. Gen. First person POV of Draco Malfoy's private journal entries. If we could really know how Draco feels about who he's supposed to be... this might be it... events in OOP or HPB never happened in this AU August and September 1996 entries uploaded.
1. September 1995

Disclaimer: I don't own it. JKR does along with a bunch of other folks who have paid good money for the rights to it. I just write this for my own twisted enjoyment. 

**Letter to No One **  
By RowanRhys

_September 1995_

Maybe someday, someone will find these parchments and understand the truth. Maybe someone will read these letters.

To look at us, you wouldn't guess that I wasn't in control. Scion of an ancient Wizarding line, wealthy, privileged. Talented, too, although my mother thinks my marks aren't good enough. Oh, yes. I give the orders--as long as they are the right orders.

You've seen my shadows, I'm sure. Looming over me, and glowering at everyone else around me. Potter, Weasley and the Mudblood think of them as my bodyguards, my servants, my tools. I'm not surprised, since that's the image they're supposed to project. But no one realizes--how could they realize?

Crabbe and Goyle didn't come to Hogwarts to get an education, really. They're here to keep me in line. To make sure that I don't slip away from the path my father has set for me. When it suits their purposes, they act as if I'm the boss; intimidating the lesser folk around here and protecting me from physical assault by other disgruntled Housemates.

But who protects me from them? I wish I were Sixth year. Then I'd get a room to myself at the very least, able to find privacy from these spies my father has inflicted on me. To be able to be my true self for a change instead of being the monster everyone thinks I am.

That youngest Weasley--Ginny--realizes I'm not what I seem, I think, despite those awful things I said on the Hogwart's Express at the end of Fourth year. I'm not really sure why, but I do. That conversation we had in the library last night when Crabbe and Goyle were down in the Hospital Wing with that virus that's hitting the Houses--I must have let on more than I should have, but it felt so good to be able to just talk to someone about something normal like Arithmancy homework. I even helped her get over the part she was stuck on. When my keepers--their ears still steaming--returned to find me, I know she saw the change in my face when I shifted to my trademark drawl and cutting language as I made a snide comment about brainless Gryffindors before sweeping out of the place with Crabbe and Goyle right behind me. I didn't dare look back. But if I'd had the courage, I wonder what I would have seen? I find I don't want her to hate me.

I think my bodyguards suspect something though. Goyle put me up against the wall tonight as soon as we got back to the Fifth year dorm. The bruises don't show. He's smart enough about that, even if he can't pass Potions without my help. Gods, I hurt. And I know that I'm going to get an Owl from my Father because I know Goyle and Crabbe must have reported that I'm not following orders. At least it won't be a Howler. Father is very insistent that the dirty laundry not be aired in public. Although, maybe, if it were, someone else might realize how afraid I am. How lonely I am.

I don't want to be a Deatheater. I threw up when Father made me watch him putting _Cruciatus_ on that Muggle he'd caught cutting across the Manor property this summer--

Oh, no. They're coming back from the showers. I have to hide this. I can't take another beating tonight. I wish--I just wish I could just tell somebody the truth.


	2. October 1995

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. JKR does along with a bunch of other folks who have paid good money for the rights to it. I just write this for my own twisted enjoyment.

* * *

**Letter to No One**  
by RowanRhys 

_October 1995_

Things are getting complicated. That's an understatement actually. They've just gotten more complicated.

It would be easier if I didn't get distracted at the wrong times. I completely forgot about meeting Crabbe and Goyle after Quidditch practice. Thank God, Madam Hooch has made the locker rooms and pitch off limits to other students when the teams are practicing. I would have remembered, but I was trying to figure out what moves Cho Chang managed to combine that let her maneuver between the beaters, avoid both bludgers and grab the Snitch without crashing into anyone. By the time I got back to the castle they were waiting for me.

I think even Filch has forgotten about the old storeroom on the second floor of Serpens Tower. Mrs. Norris probably doesn't come near it since it reeks of ammonia and other more acrid odors. They dragged me there ostensibly asking me questions about the assignment that Professor McGonagall gave us this morning. Once the door closed they shut their mouths and let their fists do the talking. They only stopped when the bell for dinner rang.

I watched them leave and just lay on the filthy floor for a while trying to pull myself together enough to concentrate on the _Glamourie_ illusion that would hide the bruises. Damn them! They enjoy doing this to me. I know they want me to beg them to stop but I won't. I've never begged for anything, and I'm not starting now.

I came down here once I could be sure everyone else was in the Great Hall. They'll be coming back soon...

Vince and Greg are still asleep. Stupid idiots couldn't recognize asphodel and wormwood even after four years of Snape's classes. I was lucky that they decided to go interfere with whatever party the Third years were having in the common room before finishing their usual nightcaps of pumpkin juice. I'm sure they'd prefer something stronger but they finished their stash of butterbeer a week ago.

After I was certain they were out cold, I waited until the common room became silent before slipping out of bed and down the hallway. I was hungry and had to get out of the dorm. If anyone was up I could always give the excuse I was going to the loo. But I lucked out. I didn't see a sign of anyone, not even Peeves, on my way to the kitchens.

One nice thing about house elves, they don't care what House you're in. And they don't care about curfews or rules either. As soon as I stepped into the room three of them were bustling around getting me enough food to feed all four Quidditch teams. I headed towards the corner of the table by the fire where I usually sat during these nighttime excursions and stopped dead. I could feel the glamour slip as I saw a brown haired girl sitting in my usual spot. I managed to restore it but she _had_ to have seen what I really looked like. She just slid down the bench and turned her attention back to her food.

I almost turned around and left, but my stomach got the better of me.

We didn't say a word to each other until the elves brought a huge chocolate raspberry torte for dessert along with mugs of fresh milk. She broke the ice by going for the same piece of torte I had my eye on. After a moment she grinned and cut the piece in half in spite of my glare. I couldn't help it. I started laughing, even though it made my ribs hurt. She's the first person to stand up to me since I've gotten here (my guardians excepted).

She's a Slytherin Fourth year and mad about Quidditch. Too bad, because Normand Darcy, this year's captain, won't have any girls on the team. Her name's Cordelia Mallory and she's the first girl I've really just talked to. It was past four in the morning before we got back to the dorm. I don't think she'll say anything to anyone about last night. I hope she doesn't.

Maybe I'll ask Normand about letting me set up some extra Seeker practices. I might be able to get him to let her play the other Seeker if I tell him I've got some ideas for some new moves I don't want the other Houses to know about...


	3. November 1995

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. JKR does along with a bunch of other folks who have paid good money for the rights to it. I just write this for my own twisted enjoyment. 

**A/N:** I had not originally planned to do more of these, but the requests of some of my reviewers triggered a massive plot bunny of a story that takes place in this ficton where Draco doesn't want to follow in his father's footsteps. For that to make sense, and to tide you all over until that piece is done, here's another bit of Draco's Letter to No One…

* * *

**Letter to No One**

by RowanRhys

_November 1995_

I looked the fool at Quidditch practice yesterday. I blew a Wronski Feint and plowed right into the pitch--and I'm glad.

Vincent broke my collarbone the day before when I told him to leave off about the fact that I haven't officially asked Pansy Parkinson to the Yule Ball like my father wants me to do. I'd rather ask the Weasel than Pansy, to tell you the truth. I've managed to hide the bruises and cuts from the other times I've needed "convincing" to be obedient, but there's no way that Madam Pomfrey would heal a broken bone without a full story as to how it happened and I was just too tired and dazed to make up a coherent explanation. I managed to carry my books with my left arm all day, but writing notes for my classes… By the time I got through Potions and Transfiguration, I knew I had to get it fixed without anyone knowing the truth. I've gotten used to living with pain over the years, but for some reason, this time I just couldn't ignore it. So when we did the practice match against Ravenclaw this evening, I pretended I saw the Snitch and dove after it.

And then, right before I would have had to pull up, I twisted my broomstick just the least little bit to make it look like I'd lost control, and slammed head first into the mud and snow right below the goals. I probably scared Cho Chang half to death.

When I woke up in the Hospital wing, my first thought was how disappointing it was that I hadn't managed to kill myself.

Madam Pomfrey said that I'm very lucky not to have come out of it with worse than a pair of broken collarbones, a concussion and more bruises than a barrel of old apples. She also scolded me on being stupid enough to be focusing on the Snitch to the exclusion of knowing just how far I was from the ground.

But I knew exactly how far away I was...


	4. January 1996

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. JKR does along with a bunch of other folks who have paid good money for the rights to it. I just write this for my own twisted enjoyment.

**Letter to No One**  
by RowanRhys

_January 1996_

Things aren't just complicated now. They're damn near impossible. I haven't had a chance to meet with Cordelia in two weeks. I'm sure she thinks I hate her because at the last Seeker practice before the weather became so bad Madame Hooch grounded all brooms, she got the snitch 25 times to my 6. I don't hate her. I was lucky to be able to stay on my broom that day.

Before Christmas, all Crabbe and Goyle did was beat me up and make physical threats. Now they're hitting me with spells.

Not that they're always successful, given their lack of real aptitude. But every so often one of their botched attempts at a leg-locker spell or confusion curse ends up doing something really awful. I'm not sure what they hit me with on my way out to practice that day but it took away my depth perception and screwed up my eyesight completely. I must have thought I was about to get the Snitch dozens of times, reached for it and discovered it was still a good three or four feet away. By the time Darcy ended practice I couldn't tell how far away the ground was. Needless to say my landing was not one of my most graceful. I was mad at Crabbe and Goyle, but I took it out on Cordelia when she came over to see if I was OK. I'm lucky she didn't hex me, too.

Of course, the entire school heard about it. The great Draco Malfoy bested by a mere girl... Crabbe and Goyle thought it was hilarious. They celebrated by dumping a bucket of ice-cold water over me at two in the morning. I think it's time to drug them again, just so I can get an undisturbed night's sleep.

I wish I knew what was up with Blaise Zabini. Ever since the winter term started he's been lurking around. Every time I made arrangements to meet with Cordelia outside of Seeker practice he showed up. I know Cordelia doesn't like him. Actually, I think she's afraid of him. And he's still lurking now that she's having nothing to do with me. Something's changed since he was at the Manor for the annual Christmas party. I saw him coming out of my father's study with a satisfied expression on his face on Christmas Eve. I didn't think my father even knew who he was, other than one of the various offspring of the people who've been coming to the Christmas party for years.

I'm think I'm going to see if Cordelia might be interested in a midnight snack tonight. She should be getting out of Transfiguration class in a few minutes...

* * *

Cordelia's not mad at me and accepted my apology without making a big fuss. She's so normal it's wonderful. I wonder what it would be like if the worst thing you had to worry about was how you did on your last potions essay.

I hope I have enough asphodel left to take care of Crabbe and Goyle... and I think I should see if I can get Blaise as well. I don't need him following down to the kitchens tonight.


	5. February 1996

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. JKR does along with a bunch of other folks who have paid good money for the rights to it. I just write this for my own twisted enjoyment.

* * *

**Letter to No One**

By RowanRhys and Dancingkatz_  
_

_February 1996_

I don't want to spend the rest of my life in Azkaban. I really don't. That's the only reason I haven't killed Pansy Parkinson. I know my father thinks she'd be perfect for the future Mrs. Draco Malfoy but I can't stand her. And now she's hurt Cordelia.

Actually, it would be better if I started at the beginning.

On the Saturday morning of the Valentine's Party at the Three Broomsticks I got an Owl from father... the usual complaints that I wasn't doing good enough in my classes, that I hadn't done enough to get the Mudbloods in trouble, that I wasn't living up to his standards... the usual. It didn't improve my mood because Pansy had been pestering me to change my mind and take her to the party. After she flounced off, I noticed Zabini (whose been insisting on sitting across from me at meals, which is more than enough to ruin anyone's appetite) had gotten mail, too. A letter. That was odd because he usually doesn't get anything on Saturdays.

As soon as I finished eating I got up to get ready to go into town but my shadows abandoned their breakfast and followed after me. Nothing happened until we got into the dorm. Zabini locked the door and pulled out his wand along with the letter he'd gotten. He read it to me while Crabbe and Goyle got warmed up by twisting my arms behind my back and bloodying my nose. It seems father decided that I needed another lesson and told Zabini to make sure I got it.

I'm supposed to plant something on Potter, or rather in his belongings. I'm not sure what it is exactly and I don't really care. It's still in my bookbag because I haven't figured out how to do it yet. The only time I'm near Potter is if we're Seekers in a practice match or in Potions class. It's kind of hard to slip something onto somebody flying past you at 75 miles per hour so it had to be potions class or nothing. Unfortunately, Millicent Bulstrode's my partner at the moment so I'm on the far side of the room from Potter. I can't even make the excuse of needing to get something from the supply cabinet to get close because it's on the wrong wall. Zabini gave me until lights out tonight to do it.

After they left, I pulled myself together enough to make myself presentable and headed for the Common Room where Cordelia was supposed to meet me. She wasn't there.

I didn't know why until lunch when Pansy crowed to her covey of admirers that she'd hexed that upstart 4th year who thought she was good enough to take Pansy's place as "Draco's favourite." I was about to do my own hexing when Zabini jabbed me with his elbow.

Potter, the four Weasleys, and Granger had taken seats right behind us. I decided that this was going to be my best chance to plant the thing before Zabini decided to rearrange my physiology again. I lucked out, the twins had one of their stupid inventions with them and when it exploded I got my chance. Potter actually ended up being knocked into me. I got the package into his pocket and shoved him away with one of my trademarked Slytherin insults. Then I left the Great Hall.

Zabini must have decided I'd done what father wanted because he motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to stay put and poured himself another goblet of pumpkin juice. That was fine with me. I didn't want them around.

Since Cordelia hadn't come to lunch, I figured she'd be in her dorm. She wasn't. There's some good things about being a Malfoy. I was able to bully a third year girl into checking her room. That left the hospital wing.

I took the _Glamourie_ spell off just enough that my left wrist actually looked as swollen as it really was from Zabini's ministrations earlier in the day. It would be better to have an excuse if I was going to show up there. And I could blame it on the Weasleys' explosion in the Great Hall.

Madam Hooch grumbled and poked at my wrist with her wand, wrapped it up and gave me a potion to drink. On my way out of the treatment room I saw Cordelia. Madam Hooch hastily pulled a screen in front of the bed and chased me out.

When I got to the Common Room, Pansy, dressed for the party, was queening it in the big chair in front of the fireplace, giving her listeners a blow by blow about finding Cordelia waiting for me and hitting her with five different hexes. She didn't notice me until too late. I hit her with a Medusa curse and came here before I did worse. I hate her but she's not worth going to Azkaban for. And frankly, she looks better with snakes instead of hair.

I'm going to see if I can get in to visit Cordelia on Valentine's Day assuming I can ditch Zabini and company. Maybe I can borrow something from the Potions store room during class on Monday that will make that easier.

And I ought to find a few mice to offer to Pansy in the morning. I'm certain her hair will be hungry.


	6. March 1996

**Disclaimer: **All things Harry Potter are the property of JKRowling and her licensees. I have written this for enjoyment only and not for any monetary gain whatsoever and have no claim on the Potterverse characters, items or locations referenced herein.

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**Letter to No One  
**

By RowanRhys and Dancingkatz

**March 1996**

Easter break is finally over--I had wished that I had been able to stay at school for the two weeks instead of going home; but, as usual, that wasn't an option. I kept my mouth shut, played piano when I was sure not to disturb my parents and wrote notes to Cordelia which Aldona delivered. It took over a week for her to be released from the Hospital Wing after being hexed by Pansy before the Valentine's party, and then we had exams, so I only got to see her a couple of times in the kitchen and only once in the Seekers' practice before we left for the Easter hols.

Unlike Christmas break, I only had to deal with Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle for just a few hours on the third day of the hols in Diagon Alley when Mother dragged me down to be re-measured for dress robes. I told her it wasn't necessary, but she didn't listen. Walking into Madam Malkin's to find Blaise, Greg and Vincent there, also being kitted out, was a rather unpleasant shock. I thought I'd manage to avoid any of their discipline techniques since we were in a public place, but after I was finished with the new dress robes, Mother told me to take the other boys to Fortesque's for ice cream while she and Mrs. Zabini, Mrs. Goyle and Mrs. Crabbe got new outfits for themselves.

I tried to ditch them by ducking into Quality Quidditch Supplies to get a practice snitch for Cordelia for her birthday present, but that didn't work for more than a few minutes. I did manage to pay for it and get it stashed away in my pocket before they were breathing down my neck again. While I suppose most people wouldn't have noticed, I could tell they were furious with me. By the time we got to Fortesque's Zabini had managed to nudge me into a side alleyway long enough for Vince and Greg to reawaken the remains of the bruises from right before we got on the Express to come home. The only positive thing about it is that they didn't mark my face or hands. Father would have killed me if I'd gotten an Underage Misuse of Magic warning from the Ministry because I had to cast a _Glamourie_ on myself outside of school. They certainly seemed to enjoy the fire sundaes I ended up paying for--I still am not sure how I managed to eat enough of mine to keep up the facade of normalcy. When I finally got home it took two doses of potion to make the bruises and pain fade enough to get to sleep.

I'm really glad that Mother did not host a house party this year--although Father did preside over a formal dinner for a dozen of his--associates--the night before I was to return to school, and ordered me to attend it. Which explains Mother's insistence on the new robes.

I'm still not sure why he wanted me to be there. I was the youngest person present by at least two decades. It was a stag dinner--no women at all. I concentrated on minding my manners and keeping up the facade necessary to keep from raising Father's ire. It was unnerving, though, the way the other men present kept looking at me, with sidewise, evaluating glances. I'm fairly certain that it wasn't the way I looked in my new black and green dress robes that was drawing their attention. I hate feeling like I'm the only person in a group who doesn't know what is going on. I was really glad to escape to my room when they adjourned to Father's study for after dinner drinks and conversation. I thought for a moment that Father would insist that I join them, but he only gave me a surprisingly approving gaze then closed the study door between us.

Part of me would have liked to have known what they were talking about after I left. Most of me was relieved to have made it through unscathed.

We leave for the station in an hour. I hope I get to see Cordy on the train so I can give her the practice Snitch. Otherwise, I hope she'll be down in the kitchen after curfew.


	7. April 1996

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter are the property of JKRowling and her licensees. I have written this for enjoyment only and not for any monetary gain whatsoever and have no claim on the Potterverse characters, items or locations referenced herein.

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**Letter to No One  
**

By RowanRhys and Dancingkatz  
**  
**_ April 1996_

We won against Ravenclaw today and the entire House is celebrating. It was an awfully close thing though. Normand made a snide comment to me about losing my edge because it was only a lucky hit from a bludger that knocked Chang hard enough off course to keep her from grabbing the Snitch before I could. It's not that I wasn't giving my absolute best effort to get it, but that the darn thing always seemed to pop up where she was instead of near me. That happens some times.

As soon as I could, I headed down for the kitchen and hid out there. My gaolors were caught up in the celebration in the dorms--some Seventh year had smuggled in a bottle of Firewhisky and Zabini, at least, was well into over-indulgence by the time I ducked out. Crabbe and Goyle weren't far behind him, so I think I won't need to worry about slipping them sleeping potion tonight.

Cordy was there, already working on a slice of our favorite raspberry-chocolate torte. The House Elves had a slice in front of me moments after I sat down next to her, and we spent well over an hour analyzing the match. She admitted that there's not much any strategy can do if the Snitch gets a mind of its own about keeping close to a particular person, but insisted that if I used some of the strategies she proposed, we could have won by a much higher margin. I'd have been offended had it been anyone else. I still insisted that my ideas were better though. I mean, I've got three years of experience on her after all. She just grinned and shook her head.

By the time we got back to the Slytherin Common Room, the party was over and it was deserted. There was a fire in the grate and it was tempting to sit down in the armchair closest to it to warm up. It may be April, but the dungeons are still chilly this time of year. But neither of us wanted to be caught out--especially since with the way my luck's been going lately, it would be Pansy who would decide to leave the dorms and after what happened before Valentine's Day, I don't want to risk Cordy being hurt by her again.

So I said good night, and once again, she surprised me. I don't ever remember getting a hug before from a pretty girl who didn't do it just because she wanted something from me or some other ulterior motive. Cordy hugged me, wished me good night, added a crack about rethinking my Seeker strategies and said she'd see me at practice the next day.

Laying here in bed behind a silencing charm and with a _Lumos_ just strong enough to see to write, I can still feel the warmth of her arms around my shoulders and her head against my chest. Or maybe it's the warmth of her friendship I'm feeling. This is the first night in a long time that I've felt this good before I went to sleep.

Of course, in the morning I'm going to have to deal with my three hungover dorm mates. I wonder if I still have ingredients for a hangover potion. They're nasty enough when sober... with hangovers and headaches, I might not survive tomorrow in their company.


	8. June 1996

**Disclaimer:** All things Harry Potter are the property of JKRowling and her licensees. I have written this for enjoyment only and not for any monetary gain whatsoever and have no claim on the Potterverse characters, items or locations referenced herein.

* * *

**Letter to No One**

By RowanRhys and Dancingkatz

_June 1996_**  
**  
I just dutifully saw mother off to one of her charity things. That's something I just can't understand; she has the most horrible people you can imagine here for tea, smiles, chats with them about inconsequentialities, presses cucumber sandwiches and cake upon them, and then she gets up and goes to some concert or auction for the benefit of wizards and witches left homeless by some natural disaster on the other side of the world. At least she didn't insist that I go along this time since tonight's event is a modern music recital. I despise "modern" music. It's so unstructured and noisy.

Father is in the City somewhere so, at the moment, I have the house to myself--if you don't count the house elves. Since I don't know when he's due back I suppose it's a good thing that the professors assigned so much revision over the hols. If he comes back too soon I can hide this in with my Magical History research notes or something. Or the potions essay. Or the notes from the practical herbology project that I've got germinating in the conservatory… I wish I were a fourth year again, like Cordelia. I know her holiday assignments are nowhere as difficult or many as mine. I should have expected it though; once you're done with your O.W.L.s, the workload just gets heavier and heavier until you're so fed up with it, the N.E.W.T.s are almost a relief.

At least it will be a few weeks before I have to worry about Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle being around. Blaise is with his parents in Italy and Vince and Greg are doing the obligatory visits to grandparents or someone somewhere in Devon or Cornwall. Maybe by the time they get back they'll have forgotten that I managed to escape their supervision on the train. I can hope. I would have never thought about ducking back to the platform on the back of the luggage van. But Cordelia did. We spent almost the entire second half of the trip talking and sometimes arguing Quidditch strategies.

I got a note from Cordelia last night. It made me laugh. The first thing she wrote was that she used her favorite strategy during a family Quidditch match and it worked but when she used mine, her team lost dismally so she considers that she "won" our discussion on the train. One of her brothers has promised her a new broom and they'll be going to Diagon Alley the second Saturday of August to pick it up for her. She wants to know if I can meet them there.

I'd love to help her pick out a good broom (I know she can't afford a Nimbus or a Firebolt but there are other decent brooms out there). Her older brother will probably get her a CleanSweep or something safe. She'll never get a chance to get on the first team without something that can really maneuver.

I'm not going to be doing any real Quidditch this summer from the looks of things. I sure as hell don't want to be up on a broom with Crabbe or Goyle lumbering around like human bludgers, and no one on the House team lives near enough to set up practices. I know Zabini flies but I can't trust him.

I'll have to come up with another reason to get down to Diagon Alley since helping a friend shop for a broom isn't important enough for father to approve; especially if that friend isn't part of the select group that I'm permitted to associate with outside of school. The O.W.L.S. results are going to arrive before then; maybe if I did well enough, I can convince Mother to let me go into London for one of the Proms concerts in Hyde Park with a stop at Diagon Alley for shopping… If nothing else I know I can talk her into letting me go and get my books and supplies for Seventh year a little earlier than usual.

Father came home from the City just before tea time with a house guest. Tancred Pffingley is apparently someone important in the Magical Defense Research Division of the Ministry. I don't like him. He smiles at you out of one side of his mouth while the rest of him is determining the best place to put the wand. I wonder if Mother knows about him. She won't be back from her concert till after midnight. I had just sent Aldona off with an answer for Cordelia a half an hour before they arrived. Hopefully, she won't be coming back until after dark, preferably while we're eating dinner so no one will ask any questions. When they arrived I was in the conservatory checking on the progress of my Bitterstar seeds. It's tempting to use magic to speed the process up but I don't want to anger Father by getting any letters from Malfada Hopkirk this summer. It seems that the closer it gets to my 17th birthday, the harder it is to meet his standards. The last thing I need is something to bring me to his attention… like an official notice from the Ministry.

The house elf's just popped in with a dress robe so it looks like tonight's dinner is going to be formal even if mother isn't here. So much for just getting a tray brought up to my room.

* * *

Pffingley is getting on my nerves. He's been here five days and it seems that every time I leave my room to work on the Bitterstars (which have finally sprouted) or go use the piano in the music room, he's always lurking about. Which is why I haven't been able to add to this. Thankfully, he and Father are out "hunting" for the afternoon. I didn't bother asking what they were after today. Sometimes it's better not to know.

Cordelia answered my answer with a note full of cartoons about Quidditch and a couple dozen homemade biscuits. She said that she's trying to get her hols assignments done but her family has so much going from what she told me, I think she'll be finishing them on the train in September. She said she's expecting to meet me at Fortescue's before we go to Quality Quidditch Supplies for her broom. I'm surprised at how much I miss her. Not that we got to see a whole lot of each other at school being in different classes and having to stay out of the way of my bodyguards and Pansy. She knows that my father uses Crabbe and Goyle as spies, but I don't think she realizes that they and Zabini are my gaolers…

I have an idea for a new composition. One of Cordelia's comments about the Golden Snitch inspired it. Since there's no one around to interrupt I'm going to spend the rest of the day in the music room working on it.


	9. July 1996

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter are the property of JKRowling and her licensees. I have written this for enjoyment only and not for any monetary gain whatsoever and have no claim on the Potterverse characters, items or locations referenced herein.

* * *

**Letter to No One**

By RowanRhys and Dancingkatz

_July 1996_**  
**  
Damn it! Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle are here (with their parents and other hangers on) and I haven't been able to work on Cordelia's Quidditch music for over a fortnight. In addition, I haven't heard back from Cordelia finalizing the details of our meeting in Diagon Alley. The house doesn't have an empty guest room and it seems as though there's always somewhere I have to be or something that I have to do with one or another guest, or something Father wants me to "help" him with. I'm managing to get my hols revision done only because Zabini and the other two have to do theirs as well, but the only time I really have to myself is between when everyone goes to their rooms or to the dungeons after midnight and when the house elf wakes me to get ready for breakfast, and I can't work in the music room then without waking my parents. And Pffingley has started badgering me about what I plan to do once I leave Hogwarts, saying that a stint in his department is just what I need to get me started on the fast track in the Ministry. Except that I know he was on the Slytherin Quidditch Team as a Beater when he was in school, I'd swear he's a Hufflepuff.

The first couple weeks of the summer weren't too bad. I managed to keep out of Father's way, and kept Mother happy by accompanying her to some of her charity events. But ever since the big house party started, it's just like being back at Hogwarts. I'm writing this now because I hurt too much to sleep, in spite of the hot soak and the massage I had one of the House elves give me. I was cleaning up in the mud room just inside the doors separating the conservatory from the south wing when Zabini had Crabbe and Goyle jump me.

Blaise is more inventive than the other two. They just use their fists and feet. Blaise gets creative. Today he decided that the handles of a pair of pruning shears would make interesting looking bruises so he charmed them into bludgeoning me once Crabbe and Goyle finished blacking my eyes. You'd have expected that one of Hopkirk's owls would have come winging in with one of her snippy little notices. But now I'm sure Father has an arrangement made so that Blaise can do non-assigned magic outside of school with impunity, so long as it's used to keep me in line.

By the time they got bored, it was tea time. I managed to stagger into the hallway where a house elf saw me and roused damn near the entire house. I blamed my injuries on the small whomping willow that is planted not too far from the Bitterstars. It's usually quite well behaved towards the members of the family but has been known to start flailing around for no apparent reason every so often during the summer. Father's grandfather took a cutting off the Whomping Willow at Hogwarts as a dare his seventh year and it got planted in the conservatory. Actually, it's small just in comparison to the original monster. It's more than large enough to knock someone off their feet. I made a good show of wanting to uproot the thing and making a bonfire, while convincing everyone that I was going to be fine. By the time I got up to my room I almost believed it. But then I saw a note lying on my bed.

_Great performance, Draco. Think you can do the same thing tomorrow? - B.Z._

Then just as I headed towards my bathroom, Aldona tapped on the window. I limped over to let her in and she dropped the note she carried into my hand. It was the last one I'd sent to Cordelia, unopened. Aldona hadn't been able to deliver it. I threw it in my desk and went to clean up since I hadn't been excused from supper.

I could have demanded to be seen at St. Mungo's but I don't think that all the bruises and cuts they'd find would be consistent with falling from my broom or having an accident while doing my potions practical revision. I certainly can't tell them that we have a whomping willow in our house. Not only was the cutting stolen in the first place, but the thing is a class B forbidden creature. Going to St. Mungo's would cause so much more trouble that it isn't worth it even if a medi-witch could heal me completely with no scars left to show for it. At least I have first aid supplies in my bathroom; even an anesthetic potion that casts a _Glamourie_ on you so no one can see your healing wounds. I'd prefer to use the spell; it doesn't have any of the potion's annoying side effects.

I didn't want to go down to dinner but my dress robes were laid out again and just as I reached to pick them up one of the house elves appeared with a message from Father.

_Be in the library at six o' clock._

He doesn't need to sign his messages; his writing is unmistakable and no one else in this house uses ink the color of dried blood. Whatever appetite I had has vanished. When he makes his invitations in writing it means it's either very important or very bad and, sometimes, both. Why do I have the feeling that tonight is going to be one of those "both" nights?


	10. August 1996

Disclaimer: We don't own it. JKR does along with a bunch of other folks who have paid good money for the rights to it. We just write this for my own twisted enjoyment.

* * *

**Letter To No One**

By Rowanrhys and Dancingkatz

_August 1996_

Mother sent a note up saying that she wants me to accompany her to the Charitable Witches' Institute's Musicale & Gala next week. I wonder what charity they are fundraising for now.

Not that I really care. I've got too many other things on my mind at the moment and none of them are conducive to peace or sustained concentration.

I'm still trying to decide if I behaved as father wanted at that unexpected formal dinner the other week. When I went downstairs, it was a repeat of the formal dinner back in March. The same "associates" were present with the addition of a few other guests, at least three of whom were unwelcome; namely Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle.

Just before the bell rang for the meal, Professor Snape appeared, looking the practically the same as usual. His formal robes aren't all that different from the ones he wears every day at Hogwarts. The familiarity of his appearance, including the misogynistic scowl, was strangely comforting as I tried to make small talk with my father's compatriots without sounding callow, trite, boring, or even worse, stupid.

After the house elves took the last of the platters and plates away, Father personally got a dust covered bottle from the side board and poured it into the waiting glasses which were all that remained on the magically stain free damask table cloth. Then I found out what that dinner back in March had been about.

It seems that Father's associates made a report to Lord Voldemort about my suitability for taking the Dark Mark. The Dark Lord was apparently pleased and has ordered that I present myself before him on the night of my 17th birthday.

I could see jealousy blaze in Zabini's eyes before he smothered it and offered me congratulations. Then I was surrounded by everyone else, all of them wishing me the same thing, but their expressions varied from askance to satisfaction and every emotion in between. When Professor Snape congratulated me he muttered something cryptic about responsibility and consequences.

Then Father handed me a glass of the brandy from that dusty bottle. I managed not to gag on the stuff, it had a peculiar bite that caught the throat and a sly, dusty after taste. Zabini didn't fare as well, he sputtered like a Third year who had sneaked his first taste of his grandfather's Old Ogden's Fire Whisky. I couldn't help but laugh, especially when Father did so along with half the company. I think that if his father hadn't been present offering a handkerchief and an anecdote about the first time he'd tasted 130-year old Efrit Brandy, Blaise would have pulled his wand and hexed us all.

I managed to make that glass last all evening until I could beg the pardon of the company and escape to my room. Blaise wasn't that smart. He proceeded, like his father, to get completely foxed. Before I left, I could tell that the company wasn't too impressed with him.

They're all coming back, this time with their wives and daughters, to a big dinner tomorrow for Lammastide. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow night; I'm likely to end up affianced to Pansy Parkinson by midnight or something equally dire.

* * *

The morning after the Lammas dinner, Aldona was perched on my pillow tugging at my hair with her beak. When I opened my eyes, she hooted softly and turned her head. I looked and saw a little scops owl sitting patiently on the windowsill. I almost fell out of bed in my haste to get the message the bird had tied to his leg.

The letter was from Cordelia. She had just returned to her home from a surprise trip to the Lake District with two of her aunts. She apologized just in case Aldona hadn't been able to find her.

"…right after my last letter, my two crazy Aunts Genevieve and Gilda came and swept me off to a tour of the Lake District. Half the time I didn't know where I was exactly so how could anyone expect an owl to find me?…"

I managed to stifle my laugh. There was no point in waking up Blaise, who had the room across the hall from mine. I was so relieved. She hadn't just sent my letter back unopened, poor Aldona just couldn't find her!

She was going to be leaving for her great-great-great-grandfather's 125th birthday party and family reunion at Fairing-under-Sezincote tomorrow and promised to be waiting at Fortescue's at 10:30 in the morning on the 10th.

I can't believe how happy (and relieved) I feel. Ever since Aldona came back that night, I've been trying to convince myself that I wasn't upset and depressed. Cordy's the only real friend I have. Everyone else that Potter and his little crowd think are my friends are just sycophants or gaolers. She's the first person I know who I can talk to about anything… literally anything… and really trust.

If I could be sure of finding a place where we wouldn't be observed or overheard and knew for sure that she'd speak to me afterwards, I tell her about that dinner last week and the plans for February. Not everyone in Slytherin are of my father's mind after all. No. It's safer not to. Besides, it would worry her to know about it. I don't think I could bear to be the one who takes that smile off her face.

Things are still quiet across the hall. I think I'll get my broom and a practice Snitch and enjoy the peace and quiet, and try to come up with a new strategy to surprise Cordelia with at our first Seeker practice in September.

* * *

It's only two days before I get on the train back to Hogwarts and I haven't been able to write much of anything since the morning after Lammas. I'll be surprised if I can read this the next time I look at the parchment since half the time it seems I'm still seeing double.

I went out to do some Seeker practice while everyone else was still asleep and just as I was about to grab the Snitch, two rocks came flying straight at me. I swerved but the Snitch took off and the damn rocks swung around and headed for me again.

I figured it was a joke, but when no one came out laughing at how stupid I looked trying to get away from them, I got worried. Nothing I did made a difference and there was no way I could let go of my broom long enough to pull out my wand to end the spell that was on them. Whoever did this was being malicious. I headed towards the house and saw Blaise on his broom, his wand in hand. He had such a malevolent look on his face I froze, sure he was going to cast one of the Unforgivables on me.

The two rocks came at me again and I woke up from my shock enough to dodge them. I should have known he wouldn't only hex two rocks, a third one bigger than my head ploughed right into my chest and I couldn't breathe. I remember feeling a sharp pain in my right side and then nothing until I woke up in a private room in St. Mungo's.

If this was what someone feels like after being hit with a _Cruciatus_, no wonder it's an Unforgivable Curse. They told me that I'd been unconscious for a week and I was lucky to have survived the fall from my broom. I didn't try to tell them what I thought had happened; I could tell my parents had already figured out a nice straightforward explanation that involved a failed flying spell on my broom, and the bad luck of having it happen over a particularly rocky part of the estate. All of that quite easily explained the cuts, bruises, broken bones, dislocated joints, punctured lung, various internal injuries and the skull fracture that the mediwizard seemed to relish listing for me like some demented maitre'd listing the vintage wines available with a high priced dinner.

I stayed there for over a fortnight even though the broken bones and bruises and so forth were easily healed with potions and spells. There's not much anyone can do, even at St. Mungo's, about head injuries and brain trauma. Father stopped in at least once a day for a few minutes on his way to meetings in the City until he was sure that I was going to survive.

Mother was another matter. She came every day for long and aggravating visits and she was there the moment visiting hours began. She'd turned inexplicably maternal and spent her visits alternately weeping or trying to "nurse" me. She was exhausting and I frankly preferred Father's neglect. Luckily, visiting hours were limited or I might have strangled her out of self defense. I found that by pretending to relapse and spending most of the visiting hours with my eyes closed and lying as still as possible, she quieted down. She didn't go away but at least she wasn't pawing at me and knocking the bed around as she straightened blankets and arranged pillows.

Once the mediwizards let me go home she went back to ignoring me. I couldn't use the floo network, I hadn't learned to apparate yet, flying was completely out of the question, and she refused to use Muggle transportion. And, of course, a son who lists to the side when he stands up isn't exactly what she wants to parade around her socialite friends.

I've been staying in my rooms sleeping more than usual, trying to figure out how to salvage my Herbology project, and finish up my other hols assignments. The mediwizards were right for once; head injuries take a long time to heal. I've spent more time than I want lying down with my eyes closed and the curtains drawn. The first day I was back from St. Mingo's, I insisted on going to the conservatory to see how the Bitterstars were doing and found that entire section of the conservatory a shambles. House elves were scurrying around with shovels and potting soil and wheelbarrows of dead and dying plants.

While I was in hospital that damned Whomping willow went berserk and smashed everything within 15 feet of itself, including my Herbology project. The Bitterstars are now miniscule fragments of leaves and stems and there is no time to start the project again.

I still have a good yard or so of essays to finish for Professors Snape and Vector but I seriously doubt that I'll get them done by the time the Express pulls into Hogsmeade the day after tomorrow.

The worst thing is that I still haven't heard from Cordelia. By the time I woke up in St. Mungo's I'd missed our meeting. I couldn't owl her because I couldn't write while Mother was there and by the time she left, I was so exhausted, I couldn't do anything but sleep. The first thing I did when I got home was scrawl a note and send Aldona off to her.

Aldona didn't come back until today and when she got here, she was furious and my note was still attached to her leg. I had one of the house elves bring her a good meal and she's sleeping in her cage now. The seal isn't even broken on my note.

I've been telling myself that her crazy aunts dragged her off again, maybe this time to Outer Mongolia or Timbuctoo but I don't really believe that. I let her down, and worse, she probably thinks that I stood her up on purpose.

All I need now is a summons from Father to meet him in his study for my annual reminder about what he expects…


	11. September 1996

**Disclaimer:** We don't own it. JKR does along with a bunch of other folks who have paid good money for the rights to it. We just write this for my own twisted enjoyment.

* * *

**Letter To No One**

By Rowanrhys and Dancingkatz

_September 1996_

There are benefits to being a prefect and in 6th year. I have a room of my own now. It's small but that's fine with me. It means that Blaise won't be coming in with Crabbe and Goyle and hiding their intentions behind the excuse of a study group. It's also going to be a lot warmer than last year's dormitory come winter since the stove won't have to heat as large an area.

And I can hide in here when I can't hide how I feel any longer.

Of course, everyone's being good enough to blame my behavior on my "flying accident" and the resultant Daily Prophet article that included an announcement by that idiot they call the Minister of Magic that he was demanding the Wizengemot legislate more stringent inspections and testing of brooms to prevent injury to "the up and coming generations." The ass actually had the temerity to call the thing "Draco's Law!"

I asked Father, at the beginning of our standard beginning-of-the-school-year meeting, to suggest--strongly--that Fudge either do another interview correcting the impression, or have the Daily Prophet print a prominent retraction saying that the Minister was quoted in error. Amazingly, he said he'd take care of the matter.

Equally amazing was the fact that he didn't see any need to give me any reminders about what would happen if I didn't live up to his expectations this year. He probably thinks that doing so would land me back in St. Mungo's; this time without a convenient excuse to explain things. He doesn't need to give me any reminders. Everything he's done or had done to me is vividly recorded in my memory. If I manage to live to be two hundred I'm not going to forget a thing. Even anOblivation charm couldn't burn out those memories. They're not in my brain, but embedded in every muscle and bit of skin and bone I possess.

When I got to Platform 9-3/4, I was accosted by Pansy before I could even chose a compartment. That girl is a menace to sanity, and you'd think I was still in St. Mungo's on my deathbed the way she acted. I was flat out rude to her but she still didn't get the hint. She sat down next to me and I really wish that Aldona wasn't so well-mannered. Some owl chalk dropping on her from the cage in the luggage rack would have gotten rid of her faster than saying "_Expelliarmus!_"

As it was, soon Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle had joined us, and the ever present headache that I've had since Blaise's attack spiked behind my eyes to unreasonable proportions.

Oddly, none of them were making any threats or indicating they intended personal mayhem. The fact that Pansy was there wouldn't have made a difference. She's so oblivious to anything that exists outside her limited interest of becoming the next Mrs. Malfoy, a Dementor could have walked into the compartment and she wouldn't have noticed.

I was rescued by the arrival of Anne Markham in the doorway of the compartment. She was wearing the Head Girl pin on her robe and the attitude of "I'm the first Slytherin Head Girl in a decade so don't interfere with me." She bluntly told Pansy and the others to get out since this was a Prefect's compartment. She was followed closely by Millicent Bulstrode and her cat, Sheba. Pansy's incipient protests were smothered by a fit of sneezing and she fled the compartment. Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle followed her much more decorously.

The rest of the Sixth year Prefects filed in: Padma Patil and Kevin Entwhistle from Ravenclaw, Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff; and last of all, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. The Weasel hung back in the doorway and Granger sat as far away from me as she could get, which suited me just fine.

The compartment was only meant to hold six people so Entwhistle perched himself on the windowsill and Finch-Fletchley sat on the floor, leaving the free seats to the girls. Anne went right to business and handed us initial patrol schedules and a calendar listing Prefect meetings. I looked it over and found that I was scheduled for far fewer patrols than the others. I looked up just in time to see Weasley scowl and open his mouth, and caught Granger planting her foot firmly on his instep. Markham mentioned that the schedule had come from the Headmaster along with her appointment letter and I got the pleasure of seeing Weasley looking downright apoplectic before Granger reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him down so she could hiss in his ear. I must have been dreaming, the muggle-born witch was defending me! If I wanted proof that I was still concussed, that was it.

Markham kept the meeting short and left, urging everyone but Millicent out into the corridor. The rest of the trip was quiet. Millicent moved to take the forward facing seat by the door, propped her feet up on the opposite seat and opened a book. Sheba took the opportunity to stretch out elegantly along the length of the rear facing seat and glared at the people going up and down the passage. I had intended to do more work on my incomplete hols essays and go find Cordelia, but ended up falling asleep.

When the Express reached Hogwarts I looked around the platform for Cordelia. I couldn't find her among the crowd of students and got in one of the last carriages to the castle. I'd talk to her at the welcoming feast.

* * *

I don't remember this morning's first class. I could have transfigured Professor Flitwick into a cockatrice instead of assembling a complete crystal goblet out of shards and wouldn't have realized it. 

My schedule gives me a free period between Charms and Arithromancy and I came to my room so I wouldn't have to answer any questions. I gave an excuse of another headache to Blaise when he tried to stop me in the corridor and I shut and locked the door in Vincent and Greg's faces. They're probably still standing out there staring at the red oak of the door in confusion.

When I didn't see Cordelia at the feast last night I was worried but told myself a hundred reasons why she might not have been there, each one more pathetic than the last. Blaise insisted on me joining him and Crabbe and Goyle in the common room afterwards to "welcome" the new First years. I must have terrorized the few First Years I spoke to enough to suit him since he didn't follow me to my room when I left. It had become a "tradition" ever since our Second year and if I hadn't participated, I'm sure that Blaise would make me pay painfully for it.

She wasn't at breakfast this morning either.

When the morning Owl Post arrived just as everyone else were pushing empty plates away, I received the usual note from Father and the usual package of sweets from Mother. Across the table Daphne Greengrass was unwrapping a crystal ball with every evidence of satisfaction. The old newspapers that had surrounded it in transit were scattered all across the table. One of the crumpled pieces caught my eye. "_...tragedy in Fairing-Under-Sezincote..._" I managed to grab it and tuck it in my robes while shoving the rest of the papers back across the table, snarling for her to keep her mess to herself. She glared back at me and I know now I'll have to watch out for her as well as Zabini. She's no slouch at hexes and she doesn't care about my family's standing since hers is almost as good.

I got up, strolled out of the Great Hall followed by my usual shadows and headed for the Charms classroom. Once there, I sat in my usual seat and pretended to browse through the textbook while looking at the piece of newspaper. The date on the page was August 3rd, the day of my "accident." Only certain words in the article in the Daily Prophet leaped out at me. They were all I needed to see to know the truth.

"_125th birthday of Bramwell Mallory_"..."_mysterious gas explosion and fire_"..."_no survivors except Hardin Mallory, grandson of Bramwell_"...

Oh, gods...Cordelia is dead...


End file.
